


In Which Draco Malfoy Becomes a (Ridiculously Happy) Father

by elimalfoy



Series: For What It Counts, For All It's Worth [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:58:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elimalfoy/pseuds/elimalfoy
Summary: He knew it was coming before Harry even broached the subject. He had hoped the inevitable conversation would never happen, but clearly that had been too optimistic. Harry Potter, once he decided something, was unpersuadable.





	In Which Draco Malfoy Becomes a (Ridiculously Happy) Father

**Author's Note:**

> Part three of a few super short epilogues I wrote because I have no life.

He knew it was coming before Harry even broached the subject. He had hoped the inevitable conversation would never happen, but clearly that had been too optimistic. Harry Potter, once he decided something, was unpersuadable.  
It had started before they’d even said their vows but had steadily gained momentum ever since. First it was the exaggerated loss of Teddy and how empty the house was without him. It was an obvious lie, ever since Jamie had started walking their lives had been unceasingly chaotic. True, Lucy had started school as well, but that simply meant her budding intellect was becoming more and more difficult to keep up with.  
Next, Harry had started becoming more obvious in fawning over their friend’s new additions. He would go on about the joys of new-borns and the incomparable feeling of holding them for the first time. Even their smell, he said, was something wonderful. Maybe he was right, but he had also been the one desperate for some remedy to cure Jamie’s teething, colic, and general disturbance.  
Harry wanted more children. He’d known that years ago. Harry wanted the family he’d never had. A whole Quidditch team of them, if he could. And since things hadn’t worked out with his ex-wife, and had with his new husband, there seemed to be only one logical conclusion.  
Harry wanted them to have children together.  
He was torn. Of course he wanted to make Harry happy. He wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea, but he was also terrified of what that kind of decision would entail. Seeing Harry with his own children, or any of their friends with their own broods was one thing, but before that, he’d only ever known his parents. The cold, uninterested way they had treated him, the torment they had used to “teach” him, and the knowledge that his only purpose was to uphold their legacy. What kind of parent could he possibly be if they were his only example?  
Harry would say that was stupid, and that he was nothing like his parents, but how true could that be? What if he agreed and turned out to be exactly like them?  
Then again, maybe Harry had a point. Watching the growing crowd of children around them did make him feel the slightest bit envious. Watching the way their parents doted on them, and vice versa, almost made him want the same. Babies, for all their screaming and soiled diapers, were admittedly adorable, and despite himself he did wonder what it would be like to know one of them was his own.  
Harry made it a whole six months before bringing it up. At Hermione and Ron’s new daughters christening, no less.  
“I think we should have one,” Harry said simply and bluntly. No use tiptoeing around the subject apparently.  
“We already have three,” he countered, not surprised that he’d already started counting them as his own. Family, he’d learned, was built on more than just blood and legacy. It was built on the people you surrounded yourself with and, more importantly, the people you love. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t become ridiculously fond of them all.  
“We have room for more,” Harry whispered with a small smile. Merlin, as if he could ever refuse him anything.  
“Jamie’s still a baby,” he pointed out, although he was grasping at straws.  
“He’s almost two now.”  
He sighed. “Isn’t this a big decision? Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, think about it for a while?”  
Harry shrugged. “A pregnancy is nine months, don’t you think that’s enough time?”  
“I meant beforehand, idiot,” he laughed.  
“What’s there to talk about?”  
He almost argued, but maybe there was an element of truth to what Harry had said. Maybe overthinking their life together had already almost been their downfall. Maybe, for a change, he should just do what his gut was telling him to.  
“You don’t think I’ll be a rubbish father?” he asked, trying to sound casual despite the very real fear he had.  
“You’re already a father,” Harry pointed out, which may or may not have made him smile ridiculously, “and I think you’re rather good at it.”  
“You’re ready to commit to constant night feedings and endless nappie changes just like that? You aren’t even concerned about what a hardship it’ll be? Or the strain it might put on our relationship?”  
“Till death do us part, right?” Harry said with a wink. “It isn’t all that bad anyway.”  
“Tell that to Ron and Hermione,” he whispered with a pointed glance at the happy, or rather, exhausted, parents in front of them.  
“Ellie is just particularly fussy.”  
“And you’re assuming ours won’t be?” he asked, knowing that if he was already referring to it as their child, the battle was lost.  
“I suppose if they’re anything like you we will have to worry—”  
He smacked Harry’s arm lightly, even though he was only teasing. “It’s a big commitment,” he decided finally.  
“You’ve already sort of committed to it though, haven’t you?” Harry whispered with a sideways glance. Damn him.  
“I guess I still have nine months to think about it.”

No one told him that nine months was nowhere near long enough to rap one’s head around impending fatherhood. On top of decorating the nursery and buying the obscene number of nappies everyone assured him he would need for the first week alone, he barely had the time to understand just what he’d gotten himself into. Harry, the seasoned father that he was, wasn’t the tiniest bit daunted. He calmly and happily fulfilled his role as the official assembler of the furniture.  
The one blessing of the whole thing is that Harry hadn’t even bothered asking him to be the one to carry the child. That, he firmly believed, would have truly and completely destroyed their relationship. Being a single, hormone-less body had been more than difficult enough. He wasn’t sure why Andrea had signed up to go through it a third time.  
That being said, he’d spent every night since they’d passed the thirty-six-week mark compulsively checking his phone, the fireplace, or the window for owls. He was convinced if he fell asleep for more than five minutes he’d miss it. Harry told him it was ridiculous every night, right before collapsing into a content, loudly snoring heap.  
Which was, of course, for nothing. At forty-two-weeks the healers had decided to speed things up, and suddenly there was no need to worry about the spontaneity of the birth. There was just twenty-seven hours spent sitting in the same hospital chair on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  
“Is it always like this? How can women keep choosing to have babies? Is it really worth it?” he mused to Harry, who was quite comfortably flipping through the stack of Seeker Weekly on the waiting room table.  
“It was longer with Lucy,” Harry answered, not looking up. “Although, not nearly as bad with Jamie. They must be just as stubborn as you.” He shot Harry an icy glare, which only, frustratingly, made him laugh. “Now you see why I didn’t want you to be the one to carry it.”  
“Because you don’t think I could do it?” he snapped.  
“No, because I don’t think I could stand watching you do it.”  
It was a sweet sentiment, although it was almost immediately forgotten at the loud scream tearing out of Andrea’s room, followed by the sound of hurried movement.  
“Something’s happened,” he whispered, feeling all colour drain from his face, hardly noticing how tightly he was gripping Harry’s arm.  
They both stood up very slowly and approached the door. He wasn’t sure what to expect really. Harry had tried to explain the whole process with the help of a Muggle visual aid, but he’d quickly discovered he really, really didn’t need that much information. Andrea at least seemed to be in good health, exhausted, but…well, still alive. The only thing missing was—  
A healer stepped back into view, carrying a huge bundle of blankets. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t, in fact, a collection of rags, but their—his—child.  
He’d always thought new-borns were ugly. Sure, there was something adorable about them, but all things considered, they looked rather like tiny, shrivelled old men. He’d always thought that, and maybe it was only because this one was his, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful in all of his life.  
“Congratulations,” the healer boomed loudly, shoving the infant into his unprepared arms, “it’s a girl.”  
He readjusted the bundle until he was satisfied that she was comfortable, then shot Harry a not-so-subtle smirk. He’d won that betting pool, anyway. Harry had been convinced that is was a boy, something about how high Andrea’s bump was. That and the fact that Malfoys rarely had daughters. However, he’d broken every other Malfoy tradition, why shouldn’t he break this one as well?  
He tugged the blanket back just the slightest bit, and his smile faltered momentarily. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten that one right.  
“She’s got your hair,” he grunted, and Harry laughed loudly, causing her to stir just the slightest bit. He stilled, expecting her to star crying, or worse, shrieking, but she just settled back into his arms and yawned softly.  
“We’ll just have to have another one, I guess.”  
A year ago, he would have looked at Harry like he was a madman. He probably should have now, with their barely born daughter in his arms. However, maybe they were right, maybe fatherhood did change you. And maybe one day he might even be convinced to have another.  
“What are you going to name her?” Andrea asked, smirking at the scene unfolding before her.  
“Amelia Andrea Potter,” they both said in unison.

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's time I cut myself off from this one, right? I mean, no guarantees. I have an obscene amount of time on my hands and an overactive imagination that keeps me awake with endless streams of Drarry ideas.   
> Anyway, hope you liked it! Thanks for the comments and kudos!


End file.
